You Are My Puppet
by Lewd Concubine
Summary: There is no rescue if everyone thinks you are dead. Szayel Aporro saves Il Forte right before his death. Il Forte is left questioning his brother's seemingly uncharacteristic action and wondering what it will mean for him. Szayel Aporro/Il Forte
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing:** Szayel Aporro Grantz/Il Forte Grantz

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** None for this chapter.

**Summary:** _There is no rescue if everyone thinks you are dead._ Szayel Aporro saves Il Forte right before his death. Il Forte is left questioning his brother's seemingly uncharacteristic action, and wondering what it will mean for him.

**You Are My Puppet:**

**Chapter One**

**by: Ryoko (Naraku's Dark Soul) and Akaadji**

The room was dark, corners obscured by shadow, the only light coming from the large monitor on one wall. Fingers rapidly moving across the keyboard, Szayel Aporro continued to monitor the skirmish going on in the human world. On screen, Il Forte--in his released form, the fool--dodged an attack. It was a narrow miss, the redheaded shinigami coming perilously close to maiming him.

Szayel gritted his teeth as a red warning light appeared and began blinking on the side of the screen. His foolish older brother...what was he thinking fighting a shinigami vice-captain? The spectral parasites Szayel had implanted into Il Forte were sending back data to the scientist real-time, and it was not looking good. Il Forte's stamina, while impressive for a Numeros, was nowhere near what it needed to be for this battle. He might have been capable of winning, had he simply held off on releasing his zanpakutou, but the idiot had jumped the gun and was now facing the consequences. Features contorted, Szayel slammed his fist down on the smooth part of his desk.

"Fourty-percent loss of speed and climbing…" he mumbled to himself, reading the data scrolling down the other side of the screen. Il Forte was distracted, didn't notice the shinigami preparing to use a special attack until it was too late.

A red beam of light filled the on-screen display and Szayel's eyes widened as the numbers detailing Il Forte's health took a nosedive.

His fingers flew across the keyboard. He knew he only had a few seconds. Any more than that and Il Forte would be killed. As he finished his preparations and activated his newest invention, the numbers stabilized and Szayel breathed a sigh of relief.

He sat still for a few moments before schooling his features into their usual mask of amused apathy and turning around.

Steps silent on the hard floor, Szayel approached the downed form of his brother. As expected, Il Forte's body was badly damaged, almost beyond repair. With such grave injuries, the Numeros had reverted to his unreleased state. His blonde hair was tangled, caked with half-dried blood from earlier injuries with fresh blood still flowing down his forehead from those more recent.

Szayel grimaced, staring down at the broken man. He knew Il Forte did not generally think things through, but following Grimmjow into the human world had been an entirely foolish act. Szayel supposed Grimmjow was to blame in the end, since Il Forte had to obey him as his Fraccion, but it had been Il Forte's _choice_ to follow the idiot in the first place.

How Szayel hated Grimmjow for taking Il Forte away from him…not that he would ever let the other man know this, much less admit it to himself. It was a thought half-entertained in his mind, never fully explored. Now, staring down at the result of all this--Il Forte's mangled body--the scientist pushed down the repulsive thought, buried it under years of practiced hatred. Smirking, he snapped his fingers and several of his own Fraccion appeared.

"Tend to this…garbage. See that it is repaired." Szayel's Fraccion nodded their assent and moved towards their fallen brethren. These were special to him, successful experiments. Intelligent and deft, but rendered incapable of speech, they were perfect for Szayel's more…_private_ research.

Turning heel, Szayel left his subordinates to their task. He had far better things to do than stand around and watch this. He would return only to review the results or if there was something too critical for his Fraccion to handle.

.

As he struggled back to consciousness, Il Forte tried to recall what had happened before he'd passed out. He remembered blinding pain, resignation as he'd realized that he was going to die and there was no longer anything he could do to stop it, then a flash and...nothing else.

It was obvious he wasn't really dead; he'd died before as a human and it was nothing like this. He was still in pain and disoriented but very much alive. But there was no reason that he should be. That shinigami had hit him before he could even react. He'd felt bone shattering, flesh tearing, and blood spilling out of his body and staining what remained of his clothing.

What did it mean that he was alive after that? He wouldn't have been taken as a prisoner or anything like that, there would be no point to it. Part of him really didn't want to know, if he were to be completely honest with himself. He'd been prepared to die, and at least there would have been some pride in it, unlike whatever the hell it was that had happened instead.

The cool, hard surface he was laying on grew ever more uncomfortable as he remained on it, and he forced himself into a sitting position, holding himself up with one arm as he opened his eyes to look around.

Tables, monitors, and...Szayel. Staring down at him with the same look he always wore. Even with all the possibilities for why he was alive that he couldn't quite think about with his head still spinning as it was, he hadn't expected to lay eyes on his sibling.

"Why did you bring me here, brother?" Whatever it was behind the other arrancar's actions, Il Forte knew that it wouldn't have been simply out of kindness. No arrancar would help if it weren't going to benefit them in some way, and the brother who loathed him so deeply, rescuing him instead of being content to simply watch him die? It didn't make sense. At least, not unless this was a game for Szayel; an attempt to prove that he was inferior or something of that nature. He couldn't understand his sibling most of the time, not that they were together very often. Almost every move Szayel made seemed illogical to him, not that he would ever comment on it with the other man's arrogance being what it was. He got his fill of that attitude without giving him even more fodder.

.

Hours later, Il Forte had largely been restored and lay resting upon one of Szayel's many lab tables. In addition, the Numeros had been implanted with a device that smothered his reiatsu and left him unable to release his zanpakutou. Just because his brother was injured did not mean Szayel was going to go easy on him. Il Forte owed Szayel his life, and he was going to start repaying that debt _soon_.

Szayel checked the other man's vitals and was just about to leave when Il Forte woke up. The Espada's eyes widened a fraction of an inch and he mentally congratulated himself on creating such exceptional Fraccion.

At Il Forte's question, Szayel suppressed a laugh. "My my, brother. Perhaps your body was not the only thing injured in your fight," he said, voice thick with mock concern. The fool should really be thanking him. It was only because of Szayel and his superb inventions that he was alive now.

Smirking, Szayel closed the file he had been holding.

.

When the cloudiness finally faded fully from his mind, Il Forte realized that it wasn't just wounds making him feel weak; there was something wrong with his reiatsu. Szayel's doing yet again, he was sure of that if nothing else. Probably yet another device implanted in his body against his will. After all, that was something his brother seemed greatly fond of doing to him these days.

Reaching up, he found his hair caked with dried blood. As he ran a hand over it, he realized that there was more than enough mixed into it to make the entirely of his hair matted and tangled. Small flecks of the blood fell onto his shoulders, unnoticed among the large amounts which had already dried onto his clothes. He absently tried to clean his hand on his hakama but only succeeded in flaking off more blood onto the table.

He hadn't thought that he'd had a bad enough head wound to mat most of his hair into a mess. Hadn't seemed at the time that it was that bad; not in the heat of battle trying to kill that damned shinigami and the brat. He held back a chuckle as he found himself wondering how many different near-fatal injuries he'd had before Szayel- no, probably his Fraccion, Szayel wouldn't waste his time - had healed him. Felt like half the blood that should have been inside in was _on_ him right now, just from how heavy everything was. He really shouldn't be amused by any of this, but he couldn't hold it back. Maybe it was a side-effect of all the pain and blood loss. Some sort of half-coherent euphoria...

"My mind is fine, Szayel. Though I greatly appreciate your concern." Returning the sarcasm in kind, Il Forte forced himself to his feet, stumbling slightly and needing to hold onto the table for balance. He couldn't help wondering what exactly was written on those papers in his brother's hand, but it wasn't worth the effort to try and find out.

"I suppose the better question would be what do you want, brother?"

.

Szayel could not help but be amused at Il Forte's attempts at nonchalance. It was clear the Numeros still thought he was free to do what he liked. No matter. Szayel would let his brother cling to that delusion for a little while longer.

"That is the question, isn't it?" Szayel made it sarcasm, but in all reality, it was the truth. He had not had time to examine his motives for saving Il Forte, and preferred not to think too much on the matter. A muscle under Szayel's eye twitched and he frowned, turning away from Il Forte. "So dirty, brother. Clean yourself up before you further taint my laboratory," he said, snapping his fingers and summoning back his Fraccion. They were supposed to have accomplished this earlier, but obviously had not. Perhaps they were not so perfect after all. However, they had done a fine job healing Il Forte and implanting the device in him…

His two diminutive subordinates approached Il Forte, ready to take him to the showers. Szayel watched them for a moment, then turned to leave, taking his brother's file with him.

.

Il Forte couldn't keep the annoyance from showing on his face as his brother danced around the point. It wasn't unusual in the least for him to do so, but it _was_ endlessly tiring. Especially at the moment, where he still felt as though he might fall if he released his tight grip on the table. Obviously there wasn't going to be much point in attempting to get any answers right now, and he really didn't feel like wasting his time for nothing, so he bit back the comment on the tip of his tongue.

...Tainting his laboratory? As though Szayel didn't do all manner of twisted things in here. He never stayed long if he needed to come here, but the faces- if you could even call them that for some of them- of his sibling's Fraccion were different each time and he had no doubt about why. After all, those _devices_ of his had to be tested on something...

Moving himself out of the reach of the insect-like Fraccion that came toward him at Szayel's bidding, he sneered with distain. As usual, they were disgusting; the worst parts of both hollow and human all mixed together. And these ones didn't even have mouths. He forced the stray thought about how they ate out of his mind as he reluctantly followed them with cautious steps. He was feeling too exhausted to argue with the other arrancar any further and truth be told desperately wanted that shower. Getting the mass of blood out of his hair and off of his body would be more than welcome.

.

(More to come from us- )


	2. Chapter 2

**Pairing:** Szayel Aporro Grantz/Il Forte Grantz

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** None for this chapter.

**Summary:**_There is no rescue if everyone thinks you are dead._ Szayel Aporro saves Il Forte right before his death. Il Forte is left questioning his brother's seemingly uncharacteristic action and wondering what it will mean for him.

**You Are My Puppet:**

**Chapter One**

**by: Ryoko (Naraku's Dark Soul) and Akaadji**

Stepping into the shower stall, Il Forte flinched in surprise as the near-scalding water hit his skin. He should have expected it to work automatically. It was almost too hot for him to enjoy, especially when hitting wounds that weren't quite healed. The scent of blood filled the air anew as the water began to clean him, and he tilted his head back in order to keep it out of his eyes. The streaks and trails covering his body slowly faded away as he forced himself to become accustomed to the heat, the floor underneath him swirling with red-tinted water. Letting out a soft hiss as he stepped fully under the shower head, he closed his eyes and began to work at his hair.

He still hadn't a clue what his younger brother was thinking...it wasn't as though they'd had a falling out in the past or anything that could lead to an interest in reconciliation; they never had been particularly close. Not as humans, not as hollows, and not now as arrancar. Not to mention the far more obvious fact that Szayel was far from the type to have any interest in that.

The longer he stood in the water the better he felt, but still, he couldn't for the life of him understand what drove the other man to save him. Sighing softly, he let his hands fall from his finally-clean hair and tilted his head up, the water pounding on his face and refreshing him. The injuries he still had were nothing; he'd be fine within days. But his reiatsu...that was still muted, eliminating the remaining shreds of doubt about Szayel being behind his weakness.

When he finally stepped out of the water, skin flushed from the heat, he found the same Fraccion waiting for him, expressionless faces following his every movement. He ignored them, drying himself off then dressing himself in the uniform offered by one of the creations.

The outfit didn't fit properly; it was obviously one of Szayel's. Obviously, for as much as the man seemed to like them, Szayel's Fraccion weren't the brightest. It wouldn't have been difficult to fetch one of his own uniforms instead. Not to mention that this way, his brother would probably gripe at him for soiling some of his precious clothing.

Walking back to the laboratory, still guarded closely by the small Fraccion, he pushed damp hair away from his face upon seeing Szayel.

"Are you happy now, brother?" He mocked, a small smirk on his lips. He couldn't help but pay his sibling back for the mocking earlier now that he could focus properly. Their interactions usually went this way; sarcasm on both sides, Szayel looking down on his for being a Fraccion...there was nothing out of the ordinary so far, as long as he pushed the question of why he was here away from the forefront of his mind.

Il Forte had the feeling that things may lead in a different direction once he got his answer about Szayel's motive, however. Whatever the reason was, he knew it wasn't just a show of power, which had been his initial thought. It really wasn't like his brother to do something like that. He would have watched him die if that was it.

.

At the sound of Il Forte's voice, Szayel turned from the charts he had been examining. Spread out in a colorful array of reds, blues, greens, and other assorted colors, they took up most of the space on the wall-encompassing monitor in front of him. He had been so busy pouring over the data from his spectral parasites that he had not heard Il Forte until the other man spoke up.

It was not unlike him to become so immersed in his work. He wasn't used to having anyone there to interrupt him; his Fraccion never did unless there was an emergency or he had previously stipulated that they should do so. Still, Szayel found himself unsettled that he could be surprised so easily. He was so distracted pondering possible solutions to his newly acquired security problem that it took a moment for Il Forte's question to sink in. Szayel smirked right back at Il Forte before replying.

"Try relieved, brother…that you disposed of those filthy rags of yours. Though _you _certainly look happy about it," Szayel quipped, fixing his glasses so the glare hid his eyes.

The clean-cut lines of his uniform did not look bad on Il Forte, though there was some erroneous stretching of the fabric in places. He would not ordinarily have lent out his clothing, but Il Forte's was not in his laboratory. It would have raised too many questions if he sent any of his Fraccion for the items. Everyone thought Il Forte was dead, and with any luck, would continue to think so. Szayel still did not know why he had saved his foolish brother in the first place, or why he found himself fighting back feelings of possessiveness, but he intended to make full use of the Numeros in his custody. Having such a high-grade specimen at his disposal thrilled Szayel to no end.

.

"Filthy rags, were they? At least they _fit _me." He forced himself to resist the growing urge to pull at the fabric around his neck. It felt so constricting to have something pressed against his throat, especially since the outfit wasn't made for him and was even tighter than it was on his brother. As uncomfortable as it was, though, he wasn't about to give the other man the satisfaction of seeing him fidget with it.

"Feel like sharing why you saved me now that you can bear to look at me?" Il Forte chuckled. He wasn't particularly certain what to do anymore, and settled on walking closer to Szayel. Truth be told, he didn't want to spend any more time than he needed to in the younger man's lab, amid his many experiments. He'd had quite enough of being one of his brother's test subjects. Unconsciously, he reached over to touch the spot where the other arrancar had implanted him with that monitoring device. It may have saved him, but he still loathed having it inside him.

"Once you tell me, I'll be out of your hair, brother." With any luck, that would be enough to get him an answer. After all, Szayel didn't like him being in his _personal space _any more than he did. As soon as he got his answer, he'd keep to his word and leave; he wanted to get out of his brother's clothes and back into his own, not to mention find out what the extent of the casualties had been. Whatever it was that was holding his reiatsu back could- and _would _-be taken out some other time; for now, resting and learning if he was the only Fraccion who had survived were higher priorities.

.

"Tsk, tsk, brother. So greedy. I save your life and you are worried about clothes? Your little _friends _should be so lucky," Szayel responded, his distaste for the word obvious. He turned back to his research, ignoring Il Forte's second attempt at conversation. He could not tell the other man what he was not certain of himself.

The very fact that he was unsure of something unnerved Szayel. He was usually much more resolute than this, usually had everything figured out and neatly compartmentalized in his mind. This time was different, though Szayel would never willingly admit his uncertainty. He would rather die than let anyone, especially Il Forte, know that he did not fully comprehend his motives.

Sighing, Szayel ran his hand over the keyboard, bringing up a fresh batch of data for him to peruse. He was finding it difficult to concentrate, but it was better than conversing about such an uncomfortable subject.

At Il Forte's last statement, he smirked to himself. If the Numeros thought he could just waltz out of Szayel's laboratory, he was gravely mistaken. Not that Szayel would tell him that just yet. No, it was better to leave test subjects with their delusions of freedom. It made them _so _much easier to control. As soon as Il Forte was fully recovered, Szayel would make good on experimenting on him. There were so many _wonderful _possibilities to consider. Oh yes, Szayel had plans for his brother. Big plans.

.

Il Forte flinched, the off-handed comment hitting exactly as it was intended to. He couldn't be certain that it wasn't simply Szayel trying to see how he would react, but with the doubt that had already been in his mind about the safety of the other men he couldn't help but have the words sting a bit.

He _was _happy to be alive. But living on in the debt of someone such as his younger brother was not exactly ideal. Szayel had always boasted about his own superiority throughout their time here, and now that he was indebted to him for his life he would never free himself from it; an idea that really shouldn't bother him nearly as much as it did.

"I'd be a bit more grateful if I didn't know you so well." He refused to give the younger man what he wanted, whether Di-Roy and the others were dead or not. He wasn't going to show the slightest regret in front of Szayel; he didn't want him to have the satisfaction. They had been together, at least some of them, since back in the days when they were still hollows. But any sadness he might have relating to their deaths would wait, as this really wasn't the time.

It didn't escape his attention that his brother yet again avoided answering his question, and he let the irritation show on his face as Szayel turned his back to return to studying whatever it was that was being displayed on the screen. The strength he'd gotten back from the hot water was quickly waning, but he certainly wasn't going to show it. He closed his eyes, trying to alleviate the frustrating itching to little success.

"It's unusual for you to turn your back on me when you aren't walking away after _dismissing _me, brother...normally you can't wait to be free of my company."

.

"Ooh, did I hit a sore spot? So sorry," Szayel replied, laughing even as his hands danced over the keyboard in front of him, rearranging the data on the screen. Il Forte certainly knew him, but Szayel was not about to let the man focus on that just now. Better to distract him with well-placed barbs about the safety of his friends. Grimacing, he pressed a little too hard on one of the keys and it creaked under his fingertip. Szayel hated using the word, hated the very idea of it. He had no use for such sentimental feelings toward another being. Such things would only serve to weaken his mental acuity, cloud it with useless and unwanted _affection_.

Tossing these thoughts aside--he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately--Szayel resumed his normal, calm demeanor. Although he had brought it up in such a manner that Il Forte would doubt the validity of his statement, it was true that all the Numeros' fellow Fraccion, his _friends_, were dead. Grimmjow, supreme idiot that he was, had gotten them all killed and had been accordingly demoted. Szayel smirked. He was infinitely glad that such an eyesore had been removed from the ranks of the Espada. Although Luppi could be annoying at times, he had far more tact that Grimmjow ever would. Szayel did not plan to interact with him more than was necessary, but did appreciate the fact he was more levelheaded than his predecessor.

At Il Forte's last statement, Szayel found himself laughing again. Would his brother ever cease to amuse him? He doubted it. "The world does not revolve around _you _brother, much as you seem to wish it were otherwise. I have far more important things to do than to cater to your needs," he replied, snapping his fingers and summoning back his faithful Fraccion. He had no doubt of his brother's fatigue. Il Forte had to be delirious if was actually seeking attention from Szayel. "Rest. It will clear your…_addled _mind." Not that Il Forte's aptitude was that high to begin with. Szayel just did not like being interrupted.

.

Il Forte was used to his brother's tendency to ignore him, but couldn't help but notice that this time, it seemed almost forced. From what little he could make out on the monitor, Szayel seemed to be doing more rearranging than actual writing. That, combined with the uncharacteristic avoidance of explaining his motives, set Il Forte on edge. Silence about the issue was much more unnerving than any derogatory comment about his skills or lack thereof could ever be...

"You flatter yourself, brother. Hardly a sore spot." Shaking his head as he spoke, he felt a sudden wave of disorientation wash over him. It passed quickly, but served to further prove that he wasn't going to be able to keep from returning to his room for much longer. He needed rest too badly. As much as he loathed the idea, there wasn't much chance that he'd be able to outlast his brother this time and get a straight answer.

"And I don't need your pity." Il Forte moved his arm out of reach when the same pair of Szayel's Fraccion reappeared, attempting to grab him and lead him _somewhere. _Was the younger man serious? Wanting -no, more or less ordering- him to sleep here? Glaring at the things as they clapped impatiently at him, he sighed. He didn't have the strength to actually drive them away, not with whatever the hell it was that Szayel had put in him this time holding back what little energy he had left.

"Saving me, offering me a bed in your precious lab...if it were anyone else but you, brother, I would think they actually cared about me." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Szayel would find it utterly hilarious. Sighing softly, he internally cursed the way his words had come out. One of the Fraccion grabbed at his clothing, tugging insistently at it and tossing its head in the direction it wanted him to go. Resigning himself to the fact that for the moment he really didn't have a better option, since the Fraccion would pester and try to herd him until he obeyed, he pushed the one's hand away from him and began to follow.

.

At Il Forte's statement, Szayel could not stop the laughter bubbling out of his throat. He stepped back from the keyboard, his head thrown back as he openly shared his amusement with the world. Il Forte had to be delirious if he was spouting nonsense like that. "Amusing as ever, brother," he said once he had managed to calm himself.

Oh, Szayel cared, just not in the way Il Forte thought he did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pairing:** Szayel Aporro Grantz/Il Forte Grantz

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** None for this chapter.

**Summary:** _There is no rescue if everyone thinks you are dead._ Szayel Aporro saves Il Forte right before his death. Il Forte is left questioning his brother's seemingly uncharacteristic action and wondering what it will mean for him.

**You Are My Puppet:**

**Chapter Three**

**by: Ryoko (Naraku's Dark Soul) and Akaadji**

When he awoke some time later, Il Forte glanced around the room he'd been escorted to. Mostly featureless, white walls and little inside other than the cot he had been sleeping on. It took him a moment to remember all of what had happened the previous day, and where exactly he was...

Nothing was any clearer now than it had when he had first awoken after being saved, and in fact was more baffling with a clear mind. Szayel rescuing him had always been confusing, but was far more so now. There truly was ino/i reason he could come up with for the younger man's actions that made any sense whatsoever. He knew perfectly well, had been reminded countless times, that he didn't matter in the least to his younger brother. Any attempts of his own to change that has failed, and he had long ago given up interest in continuing in vain, instead settling into the pattern of avoidance and mockery.

Running a hand through his tousled hair, he reached up to the collar of the uniform and re-did it. He hadn't been able to sleep easily with the fabric around his throat, and ended up needing to open it before he could relax. He'd been so exhausted that it hadn't taken long afterwards for him to fall asleep, and he wasn't quite sure exactly how it had been since then.

Out of everything that was wrong with the situation, what ate at him the most was the hospitality -or at least his brother's version of it. Szayel was always eager for him to be out of his sight, and certainly would never have offered him not only a chance to clean up but a place in his lab to sleep under normal circumstances. Which led to the obvious question; what had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time? Was it just another of the man's mind games, in which case he would probably be thrown out as soon as he left the chamber? Sighing in frustration, Il Forte stood and straightened his clothes. Whatever the case, he would be getting an answer soon enough.

.

Szayel stared at the monitor in front of him. He had spent the past few hours pouring over the information he had received from Il Forte's spectral parasites. There were a few anomalies, but nothing that could not be resolved through the battery of tests he planned to run on the Numeros. Rolling stiff shoulders, he sat back in his chair.

"I want a full diagnostic run on him. Blood work, tissue samples from all his major organs, everything," Szayel said, directing his order to a nearby Fraccion. It listened attentively with a bowed head, absorbing everything. There was no need for useless and bulky paper with these. They had what Szayel liked to call "audio memory," remembering everything they heard verbatim. Also possessing visual memory, they were his perfect little computers…or as close to perfection as Szayel had achieved so far in his experimentation on lesser Arrancar. There were still a few things that needed tweaking, as evidenced by their alarming failure to bathe Il Forte before operating on him. Perfect memory and smart, but not quick on thinking for themselves. Although, Szayel reasoned, that might be a good thing.

After a pause, Szayel leaning thoughtfully on one hand, he brought up a graph of Il Forte's reiatsu patterns during the end of his battle with the Shinigami lieutenant. "Gather samples of his reiatsu as well," he said, turning back to the data on screen and waving his hand dismissively at his Fraccion. He would keep things light for now, simply double-checking the data he had been provided with by the spectral parasites.

.

Il Forte had been prepared for either another uncharacteristic display or an order to leave as he made his way back to the main area of his brother's lab. Instead, he overheard the tail end of Szayel's orders to the same disgusting Fraccion he'd been followed around by yesterday, and was shortly after accosted by the thing.

Glaring down at it in likely-vain hopes of this one finally taking the hint and leaving him alone, or at least not touching him, he stepped around it and further into the lab.

"More tests on me, brother? I wasn't aware I had consented to be one of your I_experiments_./I" He knew perfectly well that the response would be something either insinuating or stating flat-out that his consent didn't matter; Szayel never had cared about that. But it would serve to make his point well enough.

By this point, all he wanted was removal of the reiatsu suppressant and to return to the Sexta Espada's side. The man's crude and brash attitude would be a welcome escape from the air of superiority Szayel exuded with every word out of his mouth.

It was probably for that and that alone that his brother had saved him; just to show that he could and be able to remind him from then on that he wouldn't be alive if not for Szayel's interference...another reminder he'd never measure up in his eyes.

Shaking his head, he forced his mind off of the train of thought. He wasn't quite sure why the fact that the other man had ordered his Fraccion to do more tests on him was irritating him so much. Perhaps it was the feeling of being powerless for the first time, and knowing exactly who was to blame for it.

.

Swiveling around in his chair, Szayel turned to face Il Forte. Once again, the other man had appeared out of nowhere to bother him. Eyes narrowed, Szayel sized him up. The Numeros looked rested, well cared for. He should be thankful to Szayel, not putting on antagonistic airs. All Szayel was trying to do was Ihelp/I, after all. Or, at least, that was all Il Forte should have reason to believe. It was not as if Szayel had betrayed any other motive than assisting his brother. Nevertheless, Il Forte obviously knew him all to well to accept the falsity.

Judging by his tense posture and none too friendly tone of voice, Szayel could tell he was upset. Not that it mattered. Things would progress as planned with or Iwithout/I his brother's acquiescence.

"Consent, brother? Surely you do not object to a few simple tests," he replied, beguiling smile in place. "It would be most unfortunate if lack of understanding resulted in your demise."

.

He bristled even more at the critical look Szayel gave him, meeting his brother's eyes challengingly. Did the younger man truly expect him to be friendly and subservient after everything that had happened? To fall for the obvious false notes of sympathy simply because they were family? As though he would ignore all of the years of condescension he'd put up with just because of a few fake words and one inexplicable action after another?

"Somehow I doubt that they would be simple tests, brother." Il Forte fought back the scoff he dearly wanted to add to his words. That smile was probably supposed to calm him; unfortunately for Szayel, he wasn't a fool. Whatever experiments or tests he wanted to do wouldn't be the harmless things that the man was trying to pass them off as, and he wanted no part of it.

"And I'm quite sure your little Fraccion patched me up just fine before putting in the reiatsu blocker." Gesturing back to said Fraccion dismissively, he began to walk towards the door. He had the feeling Szayel was still planning something, and would rather take his chances weakened among the other Numeros than tolerate whatever ideas his brother had come up with while he'd been unconscious. Nothing the Espada said or insinuated had done anything to quell the annoyance he was feeling towards him, and he really was tired of it.

.

Standing, Szayel pressed a few buttons on his keyboard, activating the 'reiatsu shield' embedded in the entrance to his laboratory. Another new invention of his, this shield prohibited entry or exit to his lab by anyone but Szayel himself. It was comprised of a molecule thin wall of a reiatsu-like substance derived from his own reiatsu. It was not perfect, could probably be broken by one of the higher ranked Espada--and would certainly not stand up to Aizen, Gin, or Tousen--, but no Numeros or lesser Hollow would be able to make it through.

"Like it or not, brother, I used a new, Iuntested/I device for…rescuing you. I am still unsure of the effects or any possible downsides it can have long-term. Therefore, your consent for these tests is unnecessary," Szayel intoned, stepping closer to Il Forte as several of his larger, built-for-fighting Fraccion appeared out of a side doorway. "I am sure you know I have methods for forcing you to comply, but it would be a shame to have to use those on my only brother. Much better if you would simply cooperate." It was true that the device was untested and he Idid/I need to find out the long-term consequences, but that was only part of the reason he had for detaining Il Forte. As it was, it should be enough for someone of such sub-par intellect to accept. Szayel hoped the other man would go quietly. He was a scientist, not a fighter. He hated to resort to violence, thought it petty an unnecessary, but would gladly take up arms if it furthered his agenda.

Stepping ever closer, Szayel extended one arm to the side, elbow bent. "Well, what do you say?"

.

As he walked toward the door, Il Forte could hear the clicking of the keyboard but ignored it, only stopping when he found he had no choice. He had actually set up a barrier in order to restrict him from leaving? Tensing, he turned to face Szayel once again. The harsh response he had planned came to a halt as the man informed him, very straightforwardly, that he was not I_allowed/I_ to leave on threat of violence.

"That's not exactly a fair fight, now is it?" he scoffed, staring up at the Fraccion with barely disguised loathing. If it mattered enough for Szayel to outright threaten him, then he didn't have a choice. He wouldn't be able to kill a single one of the Espada's servants before being knocked unconscious, and he knew it. He hated being reduced to something that had no choice but to obey, one hand unconsciously clenching into a fist as he levelled a cold glare at Szayel.

"Don't pretend you aren't enjoying this, brother. You aren't fooling anyone." He didn't believe for a moment that the younger man only wanted to ensure his safety. It was simply exploiting an opportunity to force him to follow orders, far from the compassion Szayel had previously been attempting to disguise it as.

.

"My sentiments exactly, brother. Honestly, violence is so Ipointless/I," Szayel said, shrugging, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Beside him, his Fraccion shifted uneasily, eager for action. One started to step forward, but Szayel held his hand in front of it, his reiatsu surging. Immediately, his hulking subordinate stopped. These were superb fighters, products of genetic manipulation that induced aggression, but were none too bright. The only thing they could understand was force. If left on their own, they would happily destroy anything and everything in sight. Szayel controlled them through brute strength. Of course, they had implants that would stop them dead if Szayel so chose, but he hated to waste such successful experiments.

At Il Forte's second statement, Szayel chuckled. Yes, the other man knew him well. However, Szayel would never admit it. His whole appeal was that he was mysterious and unpredictable. One never knew what Szayel would do next--and he liked it that way. "Ah, brother. How can I not be amused by your antics? So childish, really. But you are wrong if you think I am doing this simply for my own pleasure."

On his command, several of his favorite Fraccion came forward, ready to take Il Forte by force if it was necessary.

.

Il Forte stood his ground as the Fraccion advanced, refusing to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing even the slightest hint of concern flicker across his face. Since Szayel was quite obviously in total control of them, they wouldn't lay a hand on him unless he did something to make them.

It was tempting for a moment; something that wouldn't fit in the other man's perfectly thought-out plans for him. But the twinges of pain from the wounds that weren't quite healed stopped that train of thought. Owing his life to his brother once was more than enough of a burden. There didn't need to be a second time.

"Childish? Oh, do tell, brother...how so?" His I_antics/I_? Daring to want to leave of his own volition could hardly be counted in the realm of antics...stepping forward, closer to both the Fraccion and Szayel, Il Forte looked challengingly at his brother.

"No, of course not. I'm sure curiosity is buried somewhere under all that self-satisfaction." He may not have the option to leave or even disobey at the moment, but if Szayel was expecting subservience he would never see it from him. One of these days he'd find a way to show the younger man that he wasn't simply something to be toyed around with and looked down on; it grated on his nerves so much more hearing it from Szayel than it did when he heard similar sentiments from other Espada.

.

"Blissfully ignorant as ever, are we?" Szayel quipped, chuckling as his Fraccion neared the other man. "I believe I have already explained all you need to know. It is not my fault if you choose to dismiss the truth." Szayel Ihad/I told Il Forte the truth about the risks to his health, but the other man had been obstinate at every turn, refusing to even acknowledge Szayel's explanation of the facts.

"Scientists are curious by nature, so yes, you are right. But why state the obvious, brother? We both know that I am curious for a reason, and for a different one, self-confident." Lips pulled back into a sneer, he let his distaste for such ignorance show.

Szayel held his ground as Il Forte approached. The lower-caste Arrancar would have to try a lot harder than that if he wanted to intimidate Szayel. Il Forte was weaponless and still had the reiatsu suppressant implanted within; Szayel was an Espada surrounded by his faithful minions. The outcome of any skirmish between the two was obvious. Even without his Fraccion, Szayel would have no problem defeating Il Forte. With them, he was all but invincible.

.

Letting his disdain at the other man's words show clearly on his face, Il Forte brushed past one of the hulking beasts standing around their master and stopped in front of Szayel, refusing to waver in the least.

Yes, he knew exactly why the man was so I_self-confident_./I After all, he was an Espada while his poor older brother was only a servant. One who owed him his life, nonetheless. He'd known Szayel more than long enough to be aware of the way he viewed him, and the fact that nothing he did was enough to change that view in the slightest. But his brother needed to remember that while he may be a Fraccion, he was I_not/I_ one of Szayel's, and stop treating him as though he were.

"Since you're so intent, _brother_..." He wasn't about to be forcibly led and tied down; something he knew perfectly well would be the outcome if he tried to resist as it was. He'd been through worse than whatever little tests Szayel had planned for him.

.

Features reverting to his normal relaxed apathy, Szayel did not move when Il Forte muscled his way past the unwary Fraccion. "That I am, _brother_. That I am," he said, one finger coming up to fix his glasses. Beside him the Fraccion, which Il Forte had so unwisely disturbed, stirred but Szayel quickly suppressed it. The Numeros was cooperating; there was really no need for it to even be there.

Stepping to the side and sliding closer to Il Forte, Szayel put one gloved hand on the other man's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Oh, and just so you know. I was not lying before. All your little _friends _are dead. You have no one left but me, and it's only _because _of me that you are still around."

Szayel let his hand slip over Il Forte's shoulder and down his back a short distance as he walked by, his two hulking Fraccion following. He had already given his remaining Fraccion their orders and had no need to waste his time with Il Forte any further. His parting shot to the Numeros had been irrational--it was not wise to take all hope away from test subjects--but he hadn't been able to help himself. It had felt so _good _to put his brother in his place.

"I'll be back to check on you later, _dearest _brother," Szayel said in a singsong voice, chuckling as he continued walking away. His quiet laugh quickly turning hysterical, he exited the room, sealing it behind him.

.

Il Forte fought to keep himself from flinching away from the Espada's touch. Being as his brother had shown time and time again that he was far from a physical person in any sense of the word, the hand that came to rest on his shoulder was extremely disconcerting.

He struggled to find a normal, unemotional retort to the words the man whispered in his ear, shivering as the warm breath tickled him. When he thought back to the fight he'd had, he recalled how the reiatsu of his comrades had seemed to be getting weaker, but it hadn't mattered much at the time. Hee'd been more concerned with trying to survive himself.

Il Forte couldn't help regretting for a moment the fact that he could think so much clearer than he had been while dazed the day before. The idea of the other Fraccion being dead no longer seemed as though it was just another lie meant to demoralize him; if he thought logically, there was a decent chance that for once Szayel was telling him the truth.

It wouldn't matter that he was still alive. Nobody would be looking for him, and if they happened to feel the slight, useless trace of reiatsu that hadn't been repressed by the device inside him, they would think nothing of it. He was a disposable soldier, killed by the shinigami as far as anyone cared to think about.

So Szayel saved him for that...to remind him forever that he was useless, owed his life to him, would soon be forgotten and even sooner replaced. It wasn't exactly the motive he'd expected, but it also didn't surprise him.

"Take your time." Not a particularly intelligent comeback, but by the time he found the words to say anything after realization crashed down upon him, the younger man was already nearly out of the room and likely wouldn't have heard him anyway.

Szayel owned him now. Unless he wanted to commit suicide, and there was no way in hell he was weak enough for that, Szayel would also keep control over his life for only as long as he had fun toying with him.

Il Forte flinched away when he felt a hand on his back, turning to see the Fraccion Szayel had earlier ordered to run tests on him. It stared wordlessly at him, motioning to a lab table. Sighing to himself, he obeyed it, laying down on the cold steel. He'd never felt helpless before in his life, but for right now...there wasn't a single thing he could think of that would save him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Pairing:** Szayel Aporro Grantz/Il Forte Grantz

**Rating:** PG-15

**Warnings:** Disturbing experiment ala Szayel

**Summary:** _There is no rescue if everyone thinks you are dead._ Szayel Aporro saves Il Forte right before his death. Il Forte is left questioning his brother's seemingly uncharacteristic action, and wondering what it will mean for him.

**You Are My Puppet:**

**Chapter Four**

**by: Ryoko (Naraku's Dark Soul) and Akaadji**

Humming to himself, Szayel ran a gloved hand down Il Forte's leg. In the fluorescent light, the Numeros' skin was pale, almost colorless, around the puckered stitches on his calf. It might have looked unpleasant to some, but the wound had been expertly sewn together by Szayel himself and would not result in a scar even if his experiment were to fail.

After checking and rechecking the initial data he had received from the spectral parasites Il Forte carried, Szayel had run a series of tests on the other man to confirm his health. A perfectionist at heart, Szayel left no variable unaccounted for. Now that this tedious task had been accomplished, he had moved on to the first of what was sure to be many experiments. He had carefully removed one of Il Forte's Fibula, and was about to test his bone growing serum…just as soon as the other man awoke from his induced slumber. It was so much more _enjoyable_ when test subjects were aware of what was happening to them.

Lips curling into a smirk as he thought about his soon to be successful experiment, Szayel readied the proper amount of the serum. He was sure Il Forte would be waking up soon. He had not used any pain medication, after all. Variables really were _so_ bothersome; Szayel avoided creating unnecessary obstacles whenever possible.

.

The realization of his utter helplessness had been far harder on his spirit than he would ever willingly allow Szayel to see, even knowing how plain it must be to the younger man. He'd known that whatever it was he consented to under the guise of an _examination_ wouldn't stop there. Submitting to one test would mean submitting to anything and everything that the other arrancar conceived to do to him. But it would have happened either way; his consent would at the very least take away the enjoyment Szayel would have gained out of _forcing_ him to undergo the tests, and that was what mattered at this point. Any slight control that Il Forte could keep, he would cling to. Had to cling to.

Before he was even fully conscious the pain was borderline sickening. He'd suffered countless injuries in battle, but those had always come with the aid of adrenaline keeping his heart pounding, his mind focused on anything and everything but the wounds. He had none of that now, coming forcibly out of unconsciousness with searing pain radiating through his leg. Even through the pain, though, his leg felt _wrong_. In his daze, he couldn't be certain of what it was that the Espada had done to him as he looked down at his stitched leg. He could see the syringe in his brother's hand, however, and knew that whatever it was, this wasn't over yet...

He forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly, instead of letting the sick feeling catch up and take him over. There was sweat on his brow, his chest, from the pain, and it was spreading a feeling of cold clamminess over his nude body. Weakly, he met Szayel's eyes and stared into them.

"Whatever are you planning, brother?" It came out less firm and mocking than he'd intended, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He knew that fear and agony were the other man's goals, and for as long as he could, he needed to try and hold out, keep from displaying either. Keep the slightest bit of control over himself, over his body, for as long as he could...

.

At Il Forte's question, Szayel's smirk widened. He was pleased the other man still had some vitality left. Szayel usually valued passive test subjects, Il Forte the only exception to this rule. It would have been so dreadfully boring if the Numeros had been drained off _all_ his resistance. Vitality was spice of life, after all. Szayel was glad Il Forte still possessed some of his former impudence. It made it so much easier to ignore the unprotected body on the table, to ignore the feelings of anger and uncertainty that had plagued him since he had rescued the other man. Closing his eyes in a slow blink to clear his thoughts, he reached for the discarded fibula, holding it out of sight for the moment.

"Nothing too complex. We must start you off slow, yes?" he responded, his gaze cold and clinical as he watched the other man blink fully awake. It was clear Il Forte was in an inordinate amount of pain, yet he still found the strength to talk. _Marvelous_. Holding up the discarded bone so Il Forte could see it, Szayel let his cold facade slip for a moment, familiar manic grin sliding smoothly into place. It had been a clean cut, but as per usual, the flesh stubbornly refused to let go, resulting in stray, ragged bits of muscle still clinging to the bone. Not as pristine as he would have liked, but it would still serve its purpose. "Just a simple bone regrowth serum, brother. Aizen-sama will be so pleased with my work, don't you think?" Szayel asked, chuckling to himself as he put the bone down and prepped the syringe, making sure it was free of air bubbles.

To his knowledge, there had never been a case of an Arrancar succumbing to such a human thing as sickness. Nevertheless, he swabbed the injection site before administering the serum. Variables. So tricky, so unwanted.

Szayel discarded the used syringe, stepping back to observe his handiwork. Theoretically, the process should only take a few minutes, but one never knew for sure. "Perhaps we should try your mask next? The applications for this serum are innumerable," Szayel said, one finger curled around his chin in a gesture of mock indecision.

.

Trying in vain to keep from displaying any reaction to the broad, satisfied smirk on his brother's face, Il Forte swallowed heavily and fought to stay focused, head beginning to loll to the side, eyes fluttering. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, and weakly turned his head to face Szayel again, forcing himself to focus. Whatever it had been was gone; hidden by the younger man. It didn't take a great deal of thought for him to know that in all likelihood he didn't want to know what was in the Espada's hand, and he made no move to find out with the paltry amount of strength in his pain-wracked, weakened body.

"This is slow...brother?" It seemed as though every moment he was awake, the pain in his leg was intensifying, his breath beginning to become rough from it. He slowly reached a trembling hand to his forehead, wiping away the sweat and clinging hairs from his face. Keeping his eyes on the other man's face as he had been, he caught sight first of the sadistic expression that suddenly overtook his face, then his gaze flickered to the object in his hand. He wasn't certain what it was at first, and the realization, when it came, made his chest and stomach clench. That feeling underneath the pain was because Szayel had cut out a bone.

"A-assuming it works..." He managed to force out, an even more pitiful attempt at his usual attitude this time. Logically he knew that he'd keep more of his shattered pride if he were to stay silent, yet he kept responding automatically, too practiced in this petty bickering from the many years having known his brother.

There was movement, he assumed the syringe being pushed into his skin, then Szayel's smug expression once again, taunting him both visually and verbally as they both waited for the injection to take effect. Il Forte had no doubt that it was with eagerness on his brother's part, likely near as much as the apprehension and poorly-fought fear on his.

It began with a burning, first dull against the searing pain from the incisions but quickly spreading along his leg and becoming more severe. His body tensed, breath coming in heavier pants and nails digging into his palms. He had nothing left to hide the pain he was in, not with the pain still growing stronger and the scarce reserves of energy he'd had left draining away. He moved to draw his leg closer to him, biting back a cry of agony as this sent a bolt of pain through his body and letting it return to its previous position. He purposely faced away from Szayel, trying to keep his suffering at least partly hidden.

He'd known from when he first submitted to the younger man's will that it would be nothing less than hell for him, and with the knowledge that this was only the beginning he fought vainly to keep from trying to think of what else would be in store for him.

.

Szayel gazed dispassionately at Il Forte's leg, ignoring the Numeros' feeble protests and vain attempts at interfering with the experiment. After only a few seconds, his instruments began picking up a slight change in the other man's reiatsu. A few more and the abnormality spiked, Il Forte's skin stretching around the quickly growing bone. The whole process took less than a minute, at once faster and less painful than he had expected.

Szayel ignored the nagging feeling of relief in favor of a quick, self-congratulatory smirk before he prepped a syringe full of morphine and injected Il Forte with it. This first trial experiment had been a grand success, his instruments recording all data for his later perusal. As such, Szayel was no longer worried about variables. The Numeros had performed well, beyond Szayel's expectations, and he was not above rewarding good behavior. It also seemed the other man was close to passing out, and Szayel could simply not abide that. It was so much more entertaining to have Il Forte awake and _kicking_. Not that he could with the restraints holding him in place, but if Il Forte fainted there would be no audience for Szayel's verbal afterglow.

Stepping back from the sweating man, Szayel brought his hands together three times, each clap echoing harshly off the sterile, white walls of his laboratory. "Congratulations, brother. To you for your high pain threshold--we shall, no doubt, make much use of this--and more importantly, to me for this wonderful serum. Aren't you glad? If not for my remarkable skills, you would be a cripple now. Though I do suppose it would be an honor for a Fraccion to emulate his _former_ master, I doubt you could keep up with that fool, Grimmjow, if you had a limp," Szayel said, chuckling as he fixed his glasses, the glare hiding one eye.

.

Panting desperately, eyes blurred over with involuntary tears of pain that dripped onto his sweat-soaked chest, Il Forte fought to stay conscious. He couldn't tell for certain the meaning behind his brother's expression, and forced himself to look down at his leg. He needed to know whether the torturous pain had served even the slightest purpose, or if the Espada's experiment would need still more work. Shaking so badly he couldn't be sure how long he could sit up, he tried to force his hazy eyes to focus. Dully he caught more movement; a seemingly proud smirk from Szayel, and then another injection, the pinprick still far overwhelmed by the pain and rendered unnoticeable. He let himself fall back, eyes beginning to drift closed. It wasn't getting worse. Perhaps it was over for now.

"Ever...the arrogant one..." he murmured, scoffing. He allowed his eyes to fall fully shut for a moment, then opened them slightly again to watch Szayel.

"As though I will ever leave here, _brother_, crippled or otherwise..." There was no regret tingeing his voice at that thought; even if he'd had the strength to feel it still, he didn't care at this point. The pain was slowly fading, and taking the last of his consciousness along with it. Forgetting their battle of words, he allowed his head to fall to the side a last time and gave into the sleep his body so dearly needed.

.

Impervious to all attempts at ruining his good mood--he was far too pleased with himself to allow petty insults under his skin--, Szayel ran a hand down Il Forte's rounded calf, careful not to touch the stitches marring the otherwise perfect flesh. He would deal with those presently, testing out a skin growth serum as soon as the former serum passed out of Il Forte's system. The Numeros was ever so _useful_; Szayel wondered why he had not taken advantage of him before. Such a trivial thought was fleeting in his mind as he inspected Il Forte's leg. He had all the time in the world to use the other man and intended to make the most of it.

Szayel gave no reply to Il Forte's last statement, instead monitoring the Numeros' vital signs as he slipped unconscious and feeling some of his optimism evaporate. Was the other man really that weak, passing out from a simple shot of pain medication? Scoffing, Szayel peeled off his gloves and tossed them in a nearby medical waste bin. After everything, it had been something as innocuous as morphine that had caused the other man to faint. Szayel supposed that in essence, it had done its job, but this thought did not account for the inordinate amount of disappointment he was feeling. He had thought Il Forte much stronger than that, and was now forced to reevaluate his views on the man. Szayel knew it was nothing physical--he had made sure of that--; the only option left was that there was a larger deficit in the Numeros' mental acuity than he had expected. While not exactly surprising, it was still disappointing, though Szayel could not have said why. He did not usually invest so much in test subjects, and found himself disturbed at the prospect he might actually view Il Forte as something more.

Szayel leveled his icy glare at Il Forte as if the force of his ire could wake the other man. He did not know why he had allowed himself to be controlled by impulse and given the other something to ease the pain, just as he still had no idea why, beyond the obvious reason of a fresh test subject, he had rescued Il Forte in the first place. Szayel vowed he would not make such a _compassionate_--his teeth gritted at the thought--error in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Pairing:** Szayel Aporro Grantz/Il Forte Grantz

**Rating:** PG-15

**Warnings:** Mentions of disturbing experimentation ala Szayel

**Summary:** _There is no rescue if everyone thinks you are dead._ Szayel Aporro saves Il Forte right before his death. Il Forte is left questioning his brother's seemingly uncharacteristic action, and wondering what it will mean for him.

**You Are My Puppet:**

**Chapter Five**

**by: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine) and Akaadji**

He'd lost track of how long it had been, by now. How many days he'd spent locked in this place, ignored until Szayel wanted him for another experiment, then thrown away again to mend and wait until the next time. The Fraccion rarely acknowledged him these days-Szayel's Fraccion, he reminded himself, desperate to ignore the knowledge that he wasn't even that anymore. Not with everything that had been done to him. His body was healed; not so much as a single new scar marred his flesh. But at times, often when he was trying to sleep away the empty, silent hours and days between tests, his mind would play tricks. Make him feel like some test or another was still going, the feeling of his skin tearing and blood dripping from his body vivid and far too real. The pain would stay for some time after he woke up, searing like fire on the unmarred, healthy flesh. He kept silent about it, but knew that his brother must be aware of it anyway. The Espada would be monitoring him at all times, capturing his moans of pain, the restless shifting as he failed to sleep, everything.

Most of the tests run on him lately didn't seem to have any purpose. Szayel would smirk down at him, make some offhand comment or another, but there would be no recording of data, no Fraccion watching, nothing to indicate that it was anything other than simply torture for the sake of it. Which seemed somehow wrong. Szayel had had no reason to have saved him in the first place, and no reason to keep him here simply for the sake of hatred now. The answer would never come to him, of course. Not when it was Szayel doing this. Closing his eyes and laying back on the sheets, Il Forte tilted his head up.

"Why do you still do this, brother? It's getting tiresome..." He called quietly, no particular emotion in his voice. Any answer he got in response would be useless, assuming he even received one, but it would at least break up the silence and give him a temporary release from the memories tormenting him.

.

Szayel sat ensconced in his regular chair. He was monitoring the video feed coming from Il Forte and his other test subjects' rooms. He had plenty to do, but was in no mood for any of it. It had come to him, as of late, that he had no further use for his brother. Through the months, he had performed countless experiments on the Numeros. Everything Szayel had ever dreamed of had been done, from the most to least invasive tests and experiments. He had tested and retested everything, replaced parts of his brother's body only to come up with improvements and perform the same experiments over again. He had altered Il Forte's DNA, grown clones of him, made a thorough study of every one of his brother's organs and systems.

With such high quality materials, his capabilities had improved for a time. He had put out numerous serums, drugs, and inventions. Aizen had been most pleased with him, as Szayel had always assumed would be the case. Yet for a while now, his research had remained stagnant. He had finally reached the dreaded plateau all overachievers finally meet; he had done everything he possibly could have done, double-checked it, and done it again, all the while denying how repetitious his actions had become.

With the last experiment, performed for the fifth time, Szayel finally realized there was nothing left. His brother was useless to him, which begged the question why he was still keeping the Numeros alive. Szayel knew with a certainty something would come of dissecting Il Forte's body. This had always been the case. Yet no matter what he did, Szayel could not bring himself to end his brother's life. Oh, he had tried in recent experiments, played dangerously close to the edge on purpose _hoping_ his brother would die. However, each time Il Forte had lived. It was quite the troubling predicament and one he did not like to think about too often. Even so, Szayel knew it would not simply disappear.

He had grown more and more restless over time, unable to comprehend his own unusual weakness towards his brother. In the end, Szayel had decided to keep up pretenses and continue to experiment on Il Forte. Even though there was no data being collected, he told himself he was simply studying the Numeros' psyche. To minimize interference, he kept Il Forte's contact with anyone besides himself to a minimum and had him moved to the most secure part of his domain. Or as close as a living specimen _could_ get to it. There were no accommodations inside the core of his palace.

At the sound of Il Forte's voice, Szayel gritted his teeth, his hands clenched at his sides. There was that troubling question again. It was almost as if Il Forte was reading his mind. His eyes narrowed at the thought and across the room, several cracks appeared in one of his specimen tanks. _Tiresome_? If Il Forte only knew…

Szayel exhaled between clenched teeth before turning on the intercom. "Tiresome, you say? But there is still so much to discover about you, dear brother." A characteristic response, but his words felt empty even to him. As usual, he ignored the question that plagued him the most.

.

Il Forte couldn't help but to chuckle bitterly at the words as they echoed through the starkly lit room. They might have been the same as ever, but their tone was far from what he had been so very accustomed to in the past and carried that same fakeness that his own did. Szayel wasn't even trying anymore. There really was nothing left, no point to any of this. He'd had his suspicions, certainly, and yet some slight bit of himself had, for whatever reason, thought that there must have been some sort of logic behind his brother's experiments.

"So much to discover, brother? You have mutilated me, amputated limbs both with and without anesthetic, vivisected me, all multiple times...there is nothing left and you know it." As he spoke, he could feel his left leg begin a familiar dull ache. He shifted on the bed, sitting up when the discomfort became too much and necessitated movement. What he really needed was to walk around, but he was determined to keep from giving in for as long as possible.

Pathetic as it was, not giving in to things like that were really the only shreds of control he still possessed. Finally, he couldn't take the escalating pain any longer and stood, only the slightest bit shakily, before beginning to pace. Walking back and forth restlessly, the pain not lessening but somehow more bearable when he was moving about, he cursed how much he felt like an animal.

"So, tell me, why am I still alive? You've let me get so close to dying over and over, but just like when you brought me here in the first place, you won't let me die. And your excuses have run dry." Il Forte rested against the wall for support as he spoke, staring up at the blank white ceiling. He didn't really know or care whether Szayel had the live feed running at the moment; staring up at what he knew had to be one of several cameras had long since become habit. He didn't wait for an answer, instead pushing off the wall and walking over to the door, one hand running over the smooth surface. It wasn't even that fucking strong; he would have been able to kick it in effortlessly before all of this. Now, he couldn't even overpower the pathetically weak Fraccion that had nothing better to do than occasionally bring him food when it remembered to.

Oh, he'd tried it at first, much to Szayel's apparent amusement. Anything to show that his brother was never going to succeed in breaking him. But somewhere along the line it sunk in that whatever the hell the Espada was doing all of this for, it wasn't for that, and he stopped giving Szayel the satisfaction of having something to mock him for.

.

Il Forte listing off much of what Szayel had done only reaffirmed his belief the other man really _had_ outlived his usefulness. It did nothing for his mood, the widening cracks in his specimen tanks betraying more than any expression of which Szayel was capable. Then came the _oh_, so important question, yet again. Il Forte frequently brought it up, but generally let the issue go before too long. It seemed this time he would not.

Body shuddering with suppressed rage, Szayel rested his hands on his keyboard. He was careful not to press anything. It was becoming clearer with each moment he would have no peace as long as Il Forte was still alive. His brother would continue to torment him with questions he did not have the answers to, questions he did not even want to _consider_. Szayel also knew he was, for whatever reason, incapable of killing Il Forte. He very much doubted he would even be able to give the order for the Numeros' demise. Across the room, his specimen tank shattered, liquid rushing forth and drenching his legs. Szayel hardly noticed. His hands were balled into fists and his eyes were narrowed.

It seemed there was only one thing that could be done. Szayel again calmed himself before speaking, his fingers dancing across the keyboard even before he was finished. "Perhaps if you are capable of gaining access to me, I will tell you." He might not have been able to kill Il Forte, but his Fraccion and other specimens certainly could. With the reiatsu suppressant implanted within, Il Forte was as defenseless as a human. He would _never_ make it through the maze Szayel had shifted his domain to resemble.

Szayel had not given out any orders regarding his brother's wellbeing, but regardless, not all of his creations functioned on a high enough mental level to obey without force. Il Forte would never make it to him. As Szayel entered the code to unlock his brother's door, he was not sure if he felt anxious about or relieved by this fact.

.

The uncharacteristic silence that followed his questioning filled Il Forte with amusement. For once, it seemed there had been no immediate smug comment or insult on the tip of his brother's tongue. The humour left the situation just as quickly as it had come, however, with the response that he _did_ receive. He'd interpreted it as pure mockery, but then the smooth metal under his fingers began to move, sliding open fully to give him a view of the empty hallway. What sort of incentive was that supposed to be? If he ever _did_ reach Szayel, it would be meaningless. He still had more than enough reasoning ability to know that his brother would do all he possibly could to send him to his grave in a state where he could still mock his 'ignorance.'

As he took a few slow, cautious steps forward out of his cell, Il Forte's mind was flickering from thought to thought rapidly. He'd partially expected the door to shut again, close on him and perhaps break a bone or two, mixed with the sound of his brother's laughter in the background, commenting with amusement about his surprise that the blonde would ever fall for something that was so clearly a trap. And, as sickening as the realization was, he felt some slight amount of disappointment when none of that came.

"What sort of game do you think you're playing, brother?" he muttered, the bitterness in his voice the first real emotion he'd shown his brother in what had likely been weeks. Part of him was tempted to explore, see what sort of maze the Espada had made up for him and meet his demise in the closest thing he could ever hope to get to a way that he could control. He could pick a fight with one of the stupider Fraccion, and it would be over on his terms instead of Szayel's. But he knew that was exactly what the younger man was planning for him, and even with only small, shattered bits of pride buried deep in his mind, he refused to accept and play into the other arrancar's hands.

"You think I don't you that you'll simply play with the hallways so that I wander in an endless maze?"

.

In some small way, Szayel was impressed. He never would have thought Il Forte competent enough to consider the possibility of the moving hallways. This allowed him to cut through his mounting rage and offer a reply, his voice strained but steady. "Very perceptive of you, brother." Feeling the soaked clothes clinging to his skin for the first time, Szayel grimaced, his anger rekindled.

"However, you are wrong about one thing," he said, attempting to distract himself from the disgusting feel of the fabric sticking to his legs. "It will not be the halls that move." Szayel was decidedly _not_ going to sit around in wet clothes, after all.

He wondered if Il Forte would act on the hint he had given him, or if, as usual, the other man would retain his obtuse pattern of thought and remain stationary. Szayel considered the most likely eventuality, teeth grinding together at the sheer _incompetence_ his brother was capable of at times.

"Your options and time are in limited supply. Decide quickly, before my patience reaches its end." Szayel flicked off the intercom. Having his precious free will tampered with seemed to upset Il Forte the most out of anything. If this did not provoke him into action, Szayel was not sure what would.

He did not bother waiting for his brother's reply. Strides quick as he left to change, Szayel was already formulating a contingency plan.

.

As he began to make his way through the halls, it wasn't as though Il Forte was oblivious to the fact that he was once again only doing exactly what his brother wanted him to. No, that was, as always, perfectly clear. But Szayel would have gotten what he wanted no matter what choice Il Forte would have made. And had he stayed, the arrancar would have mocked him for his cowardice and been ever so proud of himself for managing to break his stubborn brother down to the point where he couldn't leave his prison even with the door wide open. The implied threats contained within the other man's words didn't matter to him if it meant any opportunity whatsoever to shut him up for once.

"Peace and quiet for once, brother? How _charitable_ of you." Il Forte's mouth twisted in a sneer as he spoke. There was a decent chance that if he encountered any of those mockeries of arrancar the Espada called Fraccion he wouldn't make it past the things alive. He had no way to know where the fuck he was, and he had no idea what he was going to do if he _did_ somehow make it to the lab. All of his instincts were screaming at him to fight, to focus on the only real thing he knew how to do. But the phantom pains were right there when he tensed up and punched the wall in pure frustration, reminding him that he was nothing near what he used to be.

He'd lost track of how long he had been walking through the labyrinth a while ago already. His legs were wavering underneath him, another reminder of how weak he'd become, but he paid them no mind. The endless hallways were only scarcely populated with Szayel's Fraccion, none of which paid the slightest attention to his slumped form. Il Forte was more than ready to walk himself to death before he would say another word to his brother, knowing deep down that his reserves of composure were bottoming out. He couldn't afford to show any sign of weakness now.

When he glanced up, brushing away the curtain of tangled blond hair from his face to see the entrance to the lab, he shook his head. For all he knew or cared it could be a trick, but his eyes flickered dully around the room anyway, seeking any sign of his sibling. Nothing but a shattered tank gave any indication that the place had been used at any point, but as he stepped carelessly through the puddle on the floor he chuckled lowly. He'd gotten to Szayel with something he'd said, or this mess wouldn't be here. Half sitting, half-collapsing into the chair he knew his brother favoured, he waited for the man to return from whatever he was up to.

.

Szayel Aporro was displeased, almost perilously so. It had seemed an impossibility his brother would make it through his domain alive, and yet here Il Forte was, sullying Szayel's chair with his tattered, _worthless_ body. The trip to change his clothes had done nothing to assuage his anger; he was now more livid than before. Szayel's hands balled into fists as he appraised Il Forte, his body shaking as he tried to control his reiatsu to keep the other man from noticing his presence. He had yet to decide if he wanted to keep his end of the bargain. Yet he knew if he backed down, things would never change. He would never be rid of his brother, never be able to work in a blissful, worry-free atmosphere ever again. Teeth grinding together, he leaned a hand on the pillar he was standing next to, trying his best to regain his composure.

Szayel exhaled repeatedly, his breaths shuddering at first, but becoming more fluid as he kept up the exercise. He had made up his mind. One way or another, things _would_ be different. Szayel stepped out from behind the pillar. He brought his hands together, ostensibly to applaud his brother's success, but in reality, he simply needed a distraction for himself. Facade of a smirk in place, Szayel approached Il Forte and leaned against a nearby control panel.

There could be no turning back now.

"There now, was that really so bad?" Both the timbre of his voice and his words were calm, but Szayel felt nothing but a smoldering anger beneath it all. He was in a very dangerous mood and his Fraccion, as always, seemed to know it. They vanished into the woodwork as soon as the words left his lips.

.

His senses were dulled, but even with that Il Forte could still sense hints of his brother's reiatsu. He would never be able to mistake it for anything else; it tainted every part of him. Whatever small reserves of energy were left in him would have to last him through Szayel's plans, and it was with that knowledge that Il Forte remained slumped in the chair as his brother approached. It was the oh-so-familiar sound of mocking applause which finally made him pay any attention to the other man, and he allowed himself a bitter chuckle.

"Bad? No. But just as pointless as everything else you've put me through these weeks." Il Forte returned the smirk as he turned to face the Espada, shaking his head slightly in what was intended as disapproval. This was going to be the end of things, whatever that might wind up meaning. He watched as Fraccion slid silently away from the room, from Szayel. Even they could sense that there was something brewing.

"Now, brother, answer me. Why am I alive?" Even if the chances of actually being answered were minuscule, it would be its own reward to make his arrogant, prideful brother finally show his real emotions. The signs that he'd somehow gotten to Szayel today were all around the room, and he would push what he knew was breaking the man's composure. Show his younger brother that he wasn't broken even as he stared up at the other arrancar, not entirely sure whether he could stand without wavering now that he'd sat down. Running his hand through his hair, Il Forte's eyes reflected back the same defiance they always had.

"Why did you save me?"

.

"Hardly pointless, brother. You do realize I have been able to greatly advance my research in various areas due to this, yes?" Szayel said, hands clasped together behind his back. He was doing his best to remain calm. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself, focusing on this basic mantra.

But then Il Forte had to go and ruin everything.

Szayel had been half-hoping the Numeros' mind would be addled enough he would forget. But, no. _Of course not._ The persistent, irritating question was back, and this time there could be no hiding from it. Szayel _had_ been trying to think of an answer for the entire duration of Il Forte's stay, but with little success. The pressure his brother was now placing on him did not produce the intended result, but rather a different, far more perilous one.

Szayel lost his cool.

Something inside of him snapped, and before he knew it, he had fisted his hand in Il Forte's shirt and hauled him to his feet. His fingers were wound tightly enough around the fabric they matched it for paleness as he dragged Il Forte closer, his face a mask of rage.

"I. Don't. Know," he yelled, punctuating each word by viciously shaking Il Forte's body. "You are useless to me now. Worthless! Yet I _cannot_ kill you." Even shaking his brother did little to quell his rage as the remaining three specimen tanks showed when they exploded, spraying both with glass and water.

.

"That was only valid before you had to start repeating experiments because there was nothing left to do to me that you hadn't already done." Il Forte scoffed. It struck him then that they had been in this situation, had this exact level of argument countless times, and yet this time it wasn't Szayel who was in control. It was Szayel who was clearly struggling to maintain his composure. Szayel who was reduced to roundabout comments and repeating the same non-answers over and over. Szayel who was _losing_. He began to laugh, never breaking eye contact with his brother. After all of these years, Szayel had finally broken him and only now was he finally winning a fucking argument.

"You were always _so_ very proud of yourself, brother. So composed. What happened to that?" he mocked, stumbling slightly but remaining upright by his own strength when the Espada was finished. Whatever might have held him back at any other time was gone, so he continued to press the point. He didn't care anymore if Szayel killed him. Nothingness would be welcome compared to phantom pain, flashbacks, and memories of actual strength all mocking him as he spent his days as little more than an animal kept for the younger man's amusement.

"If you were anyone else, I would think you cared about me, brother. But there's never been any love lost between us, now has there?" The coldness Il Forte had intended for the question failed, and it came out bitterly instead. Resting a hand over the one still tightly gripping his shirt, he dug his nails into the pale skin.

"Let me go."

.

"Do not think I haven't tried to rectify this," Szayel snapped, strands of wet hair sticking to his flushed face. "Your cadaver would be beneficial to me, but I could not let you die back then and I _cannot_ kill you now. You are an annoyance that simply will not _disappear_." The last was spoken from between gritted teeth as Szayel brought Il Forte's face to within an inch of his own. His entire body shuddered with barely-contained rage as he met Il Forte's mocking gaze; the other man's laughter was discordant and stinging to his ears.

"You _really_ think you have claimed a victory here?" It was Szayel's turn to laugh and he did so, heartily, but with an edge of hysteria. "You are _nothing_ compared to me. Weak. Pathetic. _Fraccion_," he hissed, as the reiatsu-charged atmosphere sparked between them. If killing his brother had been a possibility, the Numeros would have been little more than a smear on Szayel's floor.

But then, everything stopped. His anger evaporated instantly.

Il Forte's words were like ice, cutting Szayel to the very core of his being. He faltered, the color draining from his face as he followed his brother's logic. Szayel had saved Il Forte, which might have been excusable as he had made good use of him. However, this did not explain away the fact he had not killed Il Forte once his usefulness came to an end, or the fact he had attempted to keep up appearances-neither of which would have happened had Il Forte been an ordinary specimen. It also did not explain away Szayel's uneasiness and the rage over his own lack of understanding, which had accumulated over their time together. Not to mention his despicable need to possess Il Forte, which he had fought so hard and for so long to repress.

In the beginning, Szayel had not put much thought into his motives, having much with which to distract himself. Now, with everything stripped from him, he was laid bare before the awful yet certain truth of his brother's words. _He actually cared about his ineffectual brother._ But no, it was worse than that. The realization sank in deeper, razor sharp against his frayed nerves.

He _loved_ Il Forte.

It was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic.

Szayel uncurled stiff fingers from Il Forte's shirt and turned away, incapable of looking at the other man now that he had been made aware of the truth he had not been able to face on his own.

Then again, it really wasn't _his_ doing, was it? No, no, nononono... It was Il Forte's fault. All his fault. The other man had wormed his way into Szayel's cold heart against his will. It was nothing but a ploy for freedom. Yes, Il Forte's dearly held freedom was the issue here, nothing else. Some of Szayel's shattered pride rebuilt itself at this and turned, eyes narrowed, to face Il Forte. He would not be defeated here, _especially_ not by a lowly Fraccion. He was _perfection_.

Perfection did not bend for others, and it certainly did not break. He, Szayel, was unbreakable.

"What a bad joke, brother. I could _never_ care about such worthless trash as yourself." Before he realized what he was doing, his hands were squeezed around Il Forte's throat.

Everything would be alright if Il Forte would just _shut up_.

.

"How uncharacteristic of you, _brother_; admitting to something you can't do, admitting you failed...tell me, _why_ can't you kill me? You've forced me into this weakened state, you've 'tested' me enough to have killed me countless times over as long as you didn't go out of your way to bring me back, and yet you're trying to tell me you can't let me die?" Il Forte's bitter laughter escalated, the smirk playing across his lips growing even more cold as he challenged his sibling's words.

He could tell that the Espada was barely keeping himself back, and when he was forced to look into Szayel's eyes and felt the shaky breath on his face it just cemented what he already knew; the other arrancar was about to snap. The realization filled him with eagerness as the adrenaline coursed through his body, serving to excite him even more.

"Yes, brother, I am a Fraccion. But what you seem to have forgotten is that I'm not _yours_." His skin tingled as the reiatsu stung it, savouring the fact that he wasn't even in pain because Szayel wasn't going to kill him. At least, not willingly. Il Forte was actually looking forward to finding out whether or not his brother was unstable enough that he could push him into finally destroying his body out of pure, base rage.

He was disappointed when he saw the other arrancar's face change expression and felt the hands gripping him loosen, until he realized why. Taking in Szayel's pale face, the confused mixture of emotions, Il Forte leaned forward, mouth resting just centimeters from Szayel's ear as his laughter died off.

"Oh, brother...isn't it strange that you, who always called me a fool, took _so_ much longer to understand your own reasoning than I did?" He leaned back again, stepping back slightly as the tight grip on his clothing was suddenly released. The blonde's eyes trailed down Szayel's tense body, licking his lips. This was everything for which he could have hoped. His brother couldn't even look at him, much less belittle him the way he always had. He was in control here. Not Szayel. Not this time.

"Of course, I wasn't as busy as you were, brother. I had no experiments to do as busywork, just torture, nightmares, and hours upon hours to think about why you were doing this." Another softer chuckle fell from his lips as he shook his head. He had been little more than a caged animal all of this time, taken out and played with a little before being thrown back into isolation. If he had to give any credit to his brother for anything, the other arrancar was skilled at torture.

He rolled his shoulder, quick flashes of memories darkening his vision for just a few seconds as all of the pain was back again. Every session had chipped just a little more strength away from him and made these moments last longer, come more often. He'd forgotten by now, what waking up without the sick feeling that something vital was missing inside of him felt like.

As his brother whipped around, hands tightening dangerously around Il Forte's throat, the blonde leaned into the hold. "Would you like to know something, brother?" he asked calmly even as he fought for a full breath, "I loved you too. For a lot longer than anyone sane would have. But eventually I gave up the delusion that one day you wouldn't be cold and uncaring anymore. I was pathetic back then; you might even have been able to have me this way willingly if you'd showed any interest. But now, no matter what you do, you'll _never_ have me. Kill me, force me to stay alive for decades, it won't matter.' His breathing quickened as he remained unable to get quite enough air, but he paid no attention as he raised one hand and tightly gripped Szayel's hair.

"Because I hate you."

.

"Shut up," Szayel hissed, holding onto his shielding anger even as he felt himself pierced by despair at the truth behind his brother's words. His fingernails sank into Il Forte's skin through his gloves, and Szayel watched with satisfaction as Il Forte's face began to redden. "I _won't_ accept it. This is all your fault. _All your fault_." Perfection was inherently incapable of feeling such base and needless emotion, after all. "You're an abomination to my senses. Anathema!" Szayel's expression twisted into one of maniacal glee as the thin thread that held his barely-there sanity in place further frayed. He laughed, the sound quickly turning hysterical as his fingers continued to tighten. Soon. This would all be over soon. Szayel, his composure finally and irrevocably snapped, felt like he was capable of anything now.

However, before Szayel could follow through on his urges, an insistent beeping caught his attention. His gaze twitched to the side, finding the source of the disturbance-his perimeter alarm had been set off. Szayel dropped Il Forte's limp, barely-conscious body, some of his composure coming back to him at the distraction. On screen, the redheaded Shinigami who had been the initial source of this problem made his way deeper into Szayel's territory. He spent some moments exhaling his anger before sliding on his mask of cool superiority. He would deal with this new irritation. But first, _first_, he had to expunge the old one.

Szayel grabbed the back of his brother's uniform and began dragging him down the altered hallway. He pushed open the doors to his inner sanctum and flung Il Forte inside. He stood for a second, contemplating killing him immediately, but found he lacked the resolve once again. Szayel would return later, after disposing of the Shinigami who had brought this curse down on him.

"I love to hate you." It was as close to an admission of his irrational and despised feelings as Il Forte would ever hear from him.

Szayel sealed the doors shut and turned away, leaving his hatred and absurd _love_ behind_._

_._

_._

Well, this is the end of the collaborative effort between Adji and I. We hope you've enjoyed the story thus far! :) Depending on the level of interest, I may write out the ending we agreed upon because I hate to leave people hanging. However, Adji will not be participating in any further work on this story, so the formatting will differ.


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